


Soft

by Dandy



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandy/pseuds/Dandy
Summary: “Hey. Slow down,” he breathes, and Akechi feels a shiver run down his spine.





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pinkgrasshopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkgrasshopper/gifts).



> A birthday present for my friend pinkgrasshopper.

Akira is grinning, cheeks crinkled under his glasses, and Akechi is _giggling_ , and he'd barely be able to believe it if it hadn't been happening so often over the last few months. Whatever joke Akira told was stupid and not even funny, but it was told in that charming way Akira had and Akechi couldn't help himself.

It feels nice to laugh.

It's cold outside, only just past the new year, so Akira is dressed in a long sleeved shirt that is a size or two too big for his lanky frame. It's covered in his Leblanc apron, though the shop is closed up now, and it's only the two of them, cups of coffee long cooled on the table. There's a chess board in front of them, but Akechi has lost his mental plan for the turns he was about to take, too focused on Akira to focus on the game.

In the dim lights of the shop, wearing his too-big shirt, his hair, even longer and shaggier now, falling in curls around his face, he looks... soft.

_Soft_ isn't a word Akechi would think he could use for Akira. He's seen him take down shadows with a ruthless vengeance, even as they begged for their lives. He's seen him stand up to adults guilty of a variety of crimes and take down each one. He's fought to save the world, and he's been in jail. Now he's almost twenty, and every bit a young man, his jaw filling out more as he loses the last of his baby fat.

And yet, the only word Akechi can find right now is _soft_.

As Akira tilts his head, lips closing into something kinder, more contemplative, he wonders if Akira ever thinks that way about him. But he quickly dismisses that idea - _soft_ is a word that could never possibly apply to him, with all the things he's done.

Akechi is rough; rough edges, rough personality, rough past. To get to know him, the real him, Akira had to scrape past years and years of jagged walls and merciless protections, and came out the other side bloodied, bruised... but victorious.

As evidenced by the fact that Akechi sits across from him now, when he should really be at home, working on his novel or preparing for the next day's work. His giggles fading into a more pensive expression.

“What?”

“Just looking.”

“But what are you thinking about?”

“You.”

A normal person might blush at that, but Akechi only scoffs. “You should really learn to be more specific.”

Akira gives a quiet laugh, and leans back in his seat, his thumb moving to rub the smooth edges of his mug. “I'm thinking of what I want to do to you.”

That _did_ make Akechi blush, but only slightly. “Isn't it a bit late for that?”

“Somewhere to be?”

“I _should_ be at home, in bed.”

Akira hums, then dismisses that thought with a light shake of his head. “Why don't you stay here for awhile longer?”

He wants to be contrary and leave, but it's warm in the cafe, and the outside is cold and lonely, so he doesn't.

“Well, I suppose it will be interesting to see what you have in mind.”

Akira grins again, but it's a different grin than his usual. Not devilish, planning his next daring move, or teasing, happy to get one over on Akechi. It's just... kind. Happy.

Soft.

He doesn't say anything, only stands from the table. He reaches, takes Akechi's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Akechi rises with him, silent as well as Akira leads him up the stairs.

He still lives up here, for college, though it looks different than it did all that time ago. There's a proper bed now, for one, and a new desk for studying. There's more personal effects now, too; pictures of Akira and his many friends, smiling, laughing, enjoying their time together.

There's many of the two of them, and Akechi always feels like he's looking at someone else, when he sees his own smiling face.

But he isn't here to look at photos; he's here, presumably, to have sex with Akira, and so he starts in their usual fashion: ripping his shirt off, he surges at Akira, trying to take his lips by force, trying to get his hands up Akira's top and – oh, that blasted apron!

He's still trying to get it untangled when Akira suddenly runs his hands up his arms, sliding until he's pulled Akechi's fingers from the fabric and laced them with his own instead.

“Hey. Slow down,” he breathes, and Akechi feels a shiver run down his spine.

Sex with Akira has always been a frantic, desperate affair. The first time, it had been when he'd revealed himself to Akira; they'd crashed into each other, a tangle of limbs and lips and shared breaths, and Akira had held him so tight he left bruises, as though that was the only way to know Akechi was really real, really there with him. Since then, it always seemed like they didn't have enough time; always having to be quick in case Sojiro walked, in case Morgana returned early, unless Akechi's nosy next door neighbor came and heard them through the thin walls. 

Slowing down is a luxury they can't afford, and yet if Akira is worried about being disturbed now, he isn't showing it.

And Akechi realizes with a start that he wants that, _needs_ that, like water, but his practicality wins out as it so often does and he says, “What if Morgana comes back?”

“He'll live,” is all Akira says, and then he releases Akechi's hands, sheds the apron, the shirt, and then he lifts Akechi up (Akechi gives a sharp gasp as a small shock tingles his fingers and toes) and lays him out on the bed.

“Don't worry about anything,” Akira says, before leaning down, and planting slow, steady kisses to Akechi's jawline and neck. “Just let me take care of you.”

Akechi sighs, and lays back. “No one's ever taken care of me.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

Akira smiles at him through the fringe of his hair (he took off his glasses at some point, and Akechi feels a bit disoriented that he didn't notice). Then he slides off Akechi's pants and underwear in one motion, working them down his legs. Then off go his socks.

Akechi shivers, and it isn't from the cold.

Akira props himself on his arms now, looking down at Akechi. His eyes are kind, and there's another look there that Akechi is too scared to define.

Akira's eyes rove over him for awhile, and Akechi lays under him, and doesn't speak, only breaths slowly, counting the seconds on each exhale, until Akira says, “You're so beautiful, Goro.”

He feels something leap in his heart... and his cock, which also seems to enjoy the gesture. “You're just saying that,” he huffs anyway.

It's partly because he believes it. He isn't beautiful. He's rough.

Akira just smiles, leaning down and placing slow, long kisses on Akechi's pecs, his navel, his shoulders. Giving every bit of him attention, and Akechi can't help but moan when the lips grace his hips.

“No matter what you might say, _I_ think you're beautiful,” Akira asserts, and Akechi decides not to contradict him again, in case he changes his mind after all.

Finally, after an almost unbearable amount of time (Akechi is almost beginning to regret this “going slow” thing), Akira turns his attention to Akechi's cock. He gets down where he's right over it, and just... breathes, for a moment.

“Stop teasing,” hisses Akechi after he can't take it any more, and Akira grins, and rises up again, nodding. 

“Alright.”

He goes down, kisses the head (Akechi can't hold back an embarrassed noise), then wraps his lips around, and begins.

Akechi gasps, his fingers gripping into the sheets, his toes curling. Akira has done this to him so many times before, but it's always been fast, frantic, breaking him apart. This is so... slow, so deliberate, and he can feel every single motion in hi-definition.

His breaths are shuddery as his whole body trembles in time with Akira's movements. The fingers that grip his hips feel like they're setting him on fire, and yet Akira's touch is light, gentle. There will be no bruises from this, and while Akechi knows that he can handle them, there's altogether a different kind of thrill from that. One that springs warm in his chest and rises up to fill him and make him feel... 

Cared about. Taken care of.

The warm feeling moves downward, and he gasps, one hand letting go of the sheets to reach for Akira's hair. He tries to be just as gentle, but his shaky movements cause him to tug a bit, anyway.

“A-akira. Stop, I'm going to-”

Akira stops, pulling back, sitting up. He looks down in awe as though this is his first time seeing it and he wasn't just sucking on it for several minutes, then looks back up.

Whatever he sees on Akechi's face, Akira's lights up to match.

“You're beautiful,” he says again, and he sounds so sincere that Akechi can almost believe it.

He leans forward, pressing soft, warm kisses to Akechi's lips as his hand wanders to the bedside table for lube. Akechi barely pays any attention to his movements, focused entirely on the kisses. It feels so warm and safe and _right_ here he almost doesn't want it to end.

When Akira starts to rise, he wraps an arm around his back, and Akira obliges, staying down awhile longer, only kissing him while his free hand strokes his hair, and he doesn't move until Akechi finally decides to let him go, when he can ignore his aching no longer.

Akira slicks his fingers, and a moment later he's gently working Akechi open, slower than he ever has before. Every motion is a rolling wave cresting on the sand, and Akechi shudders and shakes and sighs but doesn't tell him to hurry it up. He wants to keep going.

“You're so good, Goro,” Akira is saying, voice breathing soft around the name. Akechi's never really liked it, that given name of his, but Akira says it like a prayer, like the most wonderful thing he's ever heard, and Akechi thinks, like that, he can enjoy it. “You're doing so good... How do you feel?”

How does he feel? He's over the moon, floating on the sun, he never wants this to end, he never wants to leave Akira, he-

“Pretty good,” he huffs out, and Akira laughs softly, and finally withdraws his fingers. It had all felt so effervescent that Akechi didn't realize they were done.

“I'm so glad that I'm here, with you,” Akira says, and then he slips inside.

Akechi's mind slips away; everything is a pleasant white noise. “You're so good. I'm so happy you're here with me. You're beautiful, Goro, so beautiful...” There's so many sensations they're overwhelming, and so he stops thinking and lets himself drift through it all, and just feel...

Happy. Bone-deep, blissfully, _happy_.

He only realizes he's come when he sees Akira pull out and grab tissues from the side table. His mind surges back to himself as he watches Akira gently clean them up, light, soft strokes on Akechi's belly, and his own. He feels like he should help, but he feels warm and fuzzy and tired, and so he lays still and waits.

Once Akira is done, he pulls back the covers, and buries them both underneath. He slides back, wrapping his arms around Akechi and pulling him close to his chest. He's stroking his hair, lightly, and he whispers sweet nothings that Akechi can only barely hear into the nape of his neck.

“...Can I stay here tonight?” Akechi asks after awhile, burying his nose into the skin of Akira's arm. He knows he shouldn't, but he feels like if he were to leave now, he would break apart, and never be able to put himself back together again. He can be nowhere else now but right here, safe in Akira's arms. His whole soul is stripped bare, and he can't show it to anyone else.

And Akira nods, and says quietly, “Of course,” and Akechi shudders, and turns, and buries his face in the nape of Akira's neck.

He's not sure when he started crying; maybe he has been the whole time. But Akira only brushes the tears away, and holds him while he quivers and shakes, and continues to whisper words that Akechi could only have ever dreamed of. 

He finally falls asleep, to the feel of Akira's fingers in his hair, to the sound of Akira's voice whispering, “Soft.”


End file.
